The Human Sunflower
by Shatterdoll
Summary: Russia is not sure when it had first occurred to him that America resembled a sunflower. Russia hated America. But he loved sunflowers and once the connection had been made it became inevitable that Russia came to want America. M for eventual smut
1. Chapter 1

"Did you water it like I asked Latvia?" Russia turned his lavender eyes to the smaller country.

Latvia shifts uncomfortably. "I... I'm sorry Russia, I really don't know how! I... I mean I can't just dump it on him like a real flower. Er, sorry, it." He quickly corrects himself at the slight shift in Russia's smile. "I don't know how you want me to water it."

Russia stands and clamps his hand on Latvia's head. "Well that's a shame. You aren't very good for much, are you Latvia? I'll do it myself."

Latvia watches Russia exit the room, shivering. Russia was creepy. That went without saying. But his new "plant"... well, that was just beyond disturbing and Latvia wanted as little to do with it as possible. On the bright side it had become his main interest and anything that distracted his attention from Latvia was good enough for him.

Russia meanwhile, reaches a small room. He stands in the doorway. All that resides in the room is a side table with a pitcher of water and a chair where his recently acquired sunflower sits in front of an enormous window that took up most of the wall. A very rare breed if Russia did say so himself. He circles it and looks at it thoughtfully.

"Latvia, you are an idiot. Perhaps you were simply ignoring the obvious solution?"

Oh well, Russia supposes he doesn't mind watering it himself. He did want it to maintain its current luster after all. He picks up the pitcher and drinks a mouthful of water. Then, with great deliberateness he approaches his 'sunflower'. With gentle hands he tilts its chin up and parts the lips with his thumb. Once it is properly positioned he brings his lips to its own, forcing the water down its throat. It goes down with only the slightest hitch, a bead of water running aimlessly and pooling at its chin. Russia licks the trail of water and backs away.

"Hm, the water is most important for now, but I will have to find a way to feed you." While he wanted to preserve the perfect 'stem' he did so enjoy the idea of shoving needles into its delicate flesh.

Russia stands in the presence of his treasure, smiling cheerfully. Finally he moves from the spot. He only pauses at the door long enough to say, "I will return with some food later Alfred."

The flower does not respond.

Russia is not sure when it had first occurred to him that America resembled a sunflower. The idea was so deeply ingrained into him now that it seemed as if it had always been obvious. His soft blond hair was the lovely yellow petals. His eyes were the endless blue sky that sunflowers reached so hopefully towards. His very spirit was the sun, the namesake, the nourishment that allowed the flowers to live at all.

Russia hated America. But he loved sunflowers and once the connection had been made it became inevitable that Russia came to want America.

It was a gradual shift. How he loathed America in the beginning. The sheer arrogance. The bountiful rolling lands filled with life and prosperity. He was beloved and fresh, filled with dreams and hopes that Russia would never have. He brought a certain light to the room that none of the others did. And of course, he could grow sunflowers. Lots of them. Fields of them. All with the greatest of ease.

America left a distinctly bitter taste in Russia's mouth. He was a braggart, an exaggerator, a child given too much power. And how Russia couldn't stand him. And of course, America had loathed him as well. The innocent, child-like smile had not fooled him in the least, no more than it fooled the others. The cold war had been nothing more than a continuous show of the underlying resentment the two felt for one another.

Looking at America how could he not want to wrap his large hands around that throat and choke the ungrateful bastard? He didn't even appreciate what he not only had, but what he had in abundance. How sweet it would be to slowly slice him up into little pieces until there was nothing left but a torso and head. There were so many tortures that Russia had fantasized exacting on America. But of course he was powerful and well protected. There had never been an opportunity.

Russia looks out the window at the endless snow that stretches on into apparent infinity. It wasn't like America was the only country that was blond with blue eyes. So why was he the only one that gave Russia that impression? It suddenly comes to him, as he watches the freezing wind shift the hateful snow, when he had first made the comparison.

Russia had walked into a meeting and the America idiot had been talking loudly to England. Russia was not sure what they had been talking about but the visual image had seared itself into his mind in an instant. America standing silhouetted against the clear blue sky, his smile radiant and unbearably bright, a batch of sunflowers in his arms. Had they been a gift? Something he brought himself? Maybe even meant to be facetious? Russia could not say for sure.

The rest of the meeting he could not tear himself away from the thought that had struck him so strongly that it became like a mantra. There was no escaping the thought from that time on: Alfred was like the physical manifestation of a sunflower. And for that reason and that reason alone, Ivan wanted him.


	2. Chapter 2

Russia stands in the doorway, blocking England from entering. England's green eyes flash dangerously. "I know you have him in there Ivan! I know it, now let him go damn it! What do you think you're trying to pull? Snatching him up when he's so vulnerable and then invading his country? You piece of shit!"

Russia smiles sweetly, even as he gives off a deadly aura. "I'm sorry England, I can't do that. I must say, you have quite a lot of nerve saying such things at my house." He gives a gentle laugh that sends shivers down England's spine. "Besides, it's not like he's protested my bringing him here. In fact, he doesn't have much to say at all these days. He doesn't call out for you, if that's what you're hoping."

England glowers up at the substantially taller man. "You have to let him go! He needs help. If someone worked with him he could...he could go back to the way he was. His people need him! You have no right to take advantage of the situation. In fact, it might just warrant a call for war," he growls dangerously.

Ivan leans down, his voice still deceptively pleasant. "You might want to think that over _comrade_. The only reason America hasn't been ripped apart by a dozen other countries is because I am protecting him and my military presence in his country has deferred such attempts."

England snorts. "Oh, so you're telling me you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Bullshit! Matthew and I could have handled it! Now hand him over!"

Ivan puts his hand on England's shoulder, squeezing until he winces. "Arthur, I am amazed at your stupidity in coming to face me alone. America is mine now. Feel free to declare war but just remember I not only have my military force, but also America's to back me up. Is the bloodshed worth the cost? I won't kill him. Nothing as kind as that."

He gives England a violent shove backwards. England slips on a patch of ice and falls back into the deep snow. "Russia! Damn you Russia, you bastard!"

Russia waves with a small smile and slams the door shut. England crawls to the door and bangs on it. "Russia! Open this up you son of a bitch! Give him back! Give Alfred back!"

Russia listens at the door then walks away. If the fool didn't leave within the next hour or two he would have someone shoot him. Perhaps Estonia. He hadn't had much to do these days.

Russia makes his way through his house at a leisurely pace until he is at the special room. Russia had chosen this particular room because it received the most light. On the few days that the thin, watered down light could get through anyway. Russia circled his flower. Needles stuck out from various veins, attached to feeding tubs. Russia had to keep it alive somehow after all and this was more or less how he had found it at the hospital.

Russia approaches it and pokes its cheek. The head lolls a bit to one side. Those wide blue eyes stare blankly back. From time to time they blink rapidly. Nothing more than a robotic automatic response, same as his breathing or the beating of his heartbeat.

This catatonic state was not a new thing and not something Russia had caused. A fact that left him somewhat miffed. America had been on the decline for some time. He had tried to hide it but Russia had noticed the sunshine gradually disappearing from that smile.

Dwindling global popularity, weakening as a world power, economic issues, foreign wars he couldn't win or finance any longer. The second civil war had really done a number on him. It had been the death blow in fact. America, or rather Alfred, already weaker than usual, had apparently been unable to mentally cope with the tearing apart of his own nation by his own people for the second time. It had been quite the brutal and bloody affair, one for the history books. Something Russia could truly sink his teeth into.

Some of the other countries had stepped in, mostly England the bossy git, and had tried to hide it. They had been doing a good job of smoothing it over, he had to hand it to them. If word had gotten out that the already chaotic America no longer had its great Hero there was more than one country that would have taken advantage of the situation.

Unfortunately for them Russia had some very useful spies that had allowed him to do just that. The opportunity was almost too good to be true. When he had received the news he had thought his informant was trying to mess with him and almost had him killed on the spot.

Really, if they were going to be angry they should have put more security around Alfred. Russia had snatched him up, had him safely transported to his house, and had set a hostile takeover into effect within a couple of days. The divided state of the country and the sheer unexpectedness of this attack had given him an easy victory.

Of course he hadn't tamed America's homeland quite yet. There were still little pockets of resistance. He didn't expect it to be so easy to fully conquer these citizens even without their hero. But it was only a matter of time.

Even if England and a few of the other nations got together to oppose him it was inevitable that America would belong to him completely. What a delicious deal that had fallen into his lap. Not only did he finally get his hands on his coveted sunflower, but he also would possess its lands. A good day—which were quite rare—in Russian history indeed.

Russia takes hold of America's face and tilts it up. "You are most beautiful like this моя любимая."

He leans in and kisses unresponsive lips. They are warmer than he had expected. Even in this ruined state—or perhaps this state of perfection, after all he had finally shut up—he was so warm. How had he not noticed before?

Russia leans back and sees the object before him with new eyes. So warm... How wonderful that he had found a sunflower that not only looked warm but gave off actual heat. He would be sure to find a way to take advantage of that fact.

* * *

*моя любимая – my beloved


	3. Chapter 3

Lithuania must have just finished with his usual maintenance. Alfred was wearing new clothes, smelled freshly clean, and there are no needles protruding from its body. While Russia enjoyed the presence of his sunflower he had no interest in the more human aspects of it. Thus it was Lithuania's duty to take care of its feedings, keep it clean, and deal with its basic bodily functions. Such a high maintenance plant. Still, Russia did enjoy it.

"That England is certainly persistent. I should have had him shot while I had the chance. No wonder you couldn't stand him. One would almost think he was in love with you. Such a shame, I doubt you even think about him."

America is, as ever, silent. Which suits Russia just fine. He was quite fond of this silent version of Alfred. Though he himself had gotten into the habit of talking to it. He had read somewhere flowers respond well to being spoken to.

Russia lifts America's dead weight easily and leaves the room behind. If the sunflower minds it gives no indication.

The two end up in Russia's office. He sets Alfred into a large wing chair. It was somehow satisfying to have America in the room as he figured out the best way to fully suppress its homeland. He was getting quite close. It had sent ripples of shock through the world when it became apparent that America would soon be considered a part of Mother Russia's territory.

It did seem that there was a distinct threat for war among some of the other countries but as of now Russia wasn't too worried. He already had Mexico in his pocket and had taken steps to keep Canada at bay if they tried to counterattack long ago. For the rest, he had quite the arsenal to keep them in their place.

He works in silence, that smile of his frozen in place. The hours pass and Estonia comes knocking nervously on the door. "R-Russia, lunch is ready."

Russia looks up and smiles. "I'm not hungry right now. You may eat without me."

Estonia nods, flustered. "R-right. I'll make sure to save you some, alright Russia?"

He can't help himself from stealing a glance at the oblivious America. He quickly looks away and closes the door on the grim sight.

Russia stands and lifts America again, settling it on his lap and pulling it close to his body. He rests his chin on its head. It had become his favorite pastime to sit with his sunflower pressed against him, basking in the heat it radiated. It made the room seem less lonely.

~.

The sunflower seems just as content on Russia's bed as anywhere else. It did slump a bit though, without any back support. In fact, it looked like it would fall over at any moment.

Russia hums to himself as he removes his scarf and heavy jacket. It had been on his mind lately, just how much heat did his little sunflower produce? It was hard to gauge through his thick layer of clothing. A knock at the door interrupts him. When Russia answers it he is surrounded by an intimidating aura.

Latvia cringes. "Russia, th-these came. I've put the rest in different rooms. They're not in very good condition but they came that way, it wasn't me!"

Latvia holds out a small bouquet of sunflowers that had no doubt seen better days. Russia never received better than second hand sunflowers. Well, with the exception of the one that sat on the bed behind him. He found its condition quite satisfactory.

Russia gives Latvia a creepy smile and takes the ruffled flowers, clamping his free hand down on his head. "It never ceases to amaze me how small you are Latvia. It seems at this rate you'll never get any bigger, da?"

Latvia trembles. "I would if you would stop pressing down on my head."

Before Russia can respond there is the distinct sound of America succumbing to gravity. Russia releases Latvia. "Sit it up again before you go."

Latvia nods quickly and hurries to do the task. He had just dodged a bullet and he wanted to get out as fast as possible. If he is really lucky Russia will forget to punish him later too. As Latvia busies himself with the prone body of America, Russia arranges the sad sunflowers on his dresser. No doubt they would be utterly wilted that very day and would have to be thrown out.

"I-I'm going!" Latvia squeaks before sprinting from the room.

Russia steps away from the flowers. "Well, they don't hold a candle to your vitality, do they? And considering you always look half-dead that's really saying something. I wonder, do they make you feel nostalgic for home?"

He chuckles softly until he finally looks over at America. The laugh dies instantly. America's eyelashes have started to flutter rapidly and Russia gets the distinct impression that it is not the same robotic response it has been in the past. Its breathing has accelerated. Russia suspects if he had pressed his ear against its chest he would hear the quickened beating of its heart. Then, with something akin to horror, Russia watches as a tear roles down its porcelain cheek.

There is a roaring sound in Russia's ears. Was it possible that he—no, it—was waking up? He turns and sweeps the vase with the sunflowers to the ground then turns towards America. He is on it in a second, pressing it to the bed, its wrists pinned tightly against the mattress.

He brings his mouth to America's ear and begins to speak rapidly. "Can you hear me America? Is this getting through? Now you know what it is to be alone, to be isolated, you know what it is to realize there are some dreams that do not come true. And I'm glad. It's about time that ego of yours was cut down to size. You can't even imagine how much I've hated you, envied you. And now I will have it all. I shall take your land of dreams as my own. And to sweeten the deal I also have you. My little sunflower."

He awaits some kind of response with abated breath. Another tear, or a sob, or perhaps even a violent awakening. But there is nothing. Russia pulls back and sees that those blue eyes have become blank once more. Russia is not sure how he feels. There is some unease, relief, even a twinge of disappointment. If his sunflower was going to try and become a person and not just a thing again it would not be this day.

Russia leans back down and kisses America hungrily. If there would be no unexpected awakenings then Russia would return to his original intent. He would discover just how warm his sunflower could be. He allows his tongue to explore the others mouth. It does not bother him that there is no reaction. If he needed one there were three others in the house that would serve that purpose well. He bruises those soft lips, intent on marking it as his own wherever possible.

He pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside then leisurely unbuttons America's shirt. There was no pressure to hurry. After all, his partner didn't exactly have anywhere to rush off to. As he tugs it off he bites its exposed neck. The flesh is tender and tastes almost sweet. He allows his tongue to rest on the pulse at the edge of its jaw. When he becomes bored of the feeling he starts to move south. His mouth travels down its torso leaving little 'love' marks and bruises all the way down.

Russia smirks slightly as he reaches its stomach. America had always been on the verge of chubby in the past. Bloated with too much prosperity and fast food. Now, however, he was quite thin from near starvation. His hipbones protrude nicely and Russia nips them. How he would enjoy bruising them. Russia finishes stripping himself and America. He is amused to see that America is already halfway to hard. Even when the mind was away the body was a total slut. Stimulus was stimulus, he muses.

For a moment he simply pulls America to himself and cradles the ragdoll body. Its body heat was so much better than the finest furs. Particularly because Russia likes the underlying musky smell his little sunflower had. He could have lain there for hours just like this. However, as much as he enjoyed this warmth there was another he was more eager to experience. He wanted to feel how hot it was inside his sunflower.

'Alfred. I think I may refer to him as Alfred from now on unless speaking of him to other countries. It's so much more intimate.' Russia thinks to himself as he positions its body, lifting its legs up. He would have liked to have them wrapped around his waist but that was a bit out of the question unless he wanted to hold them up the whole time. Russia does elevate the hips a bit, digging his fingers in as hard as he can.

He stares down at his sunflower, the way its chest rises and falls, the lack of life in each limb. Fascinating. With that thought in mind he enters America. He hadn't bothered to prepare him. He doubts it can feel this in its current state and even if it did hurt him then all the better.

He lets out a hiss. Just as he had expected, his sunflower was wonderfully hot. He pulls out and enters more deeply, growling softly. As he begins a steady rhythm he viciously attacks America's lips again. His hands brutalize his arms, hips, and thighs. He presses ever deeper, wanting to become one with it, even if it was only for a second.

Being inside of it, feeling its full heat, fucking it like crazy, it stirred up a lot of feelings in Ivan.

He hated it, wanted to hurt it, wanted to fuck it over as thoroughly as it had fucked him over in the past. He loved it, the way it was things he could never be, the fact that it made him feel less alone.

He wanted to destroy it and for it to always belong to him.

America. Alfred. His sunflower.

A sheen of sweat glistens on the tangled bodies. The only sound in the room are Ivan's muffled grunts and the rare ghost moans that occasionally escape Alfred's lips. It did not scream like Latvia, or cry like Lithuania. But those odd sounds, most likely another automatic response, were more than enough for Ivan. They left him thoroughly seduced.

Russia feels himself nearing his climax. He whispers to America, his words punctured with sporadic grunts. "You are a fool America. Never did know when to quit, did you? You have paid the price for it. Knowing when to let yourself break can save you in the long run. Better to be broken then completely destroyed, da? Just look at me."

He chuckles as he wraps his hands around America's neck. Ivan's fingers dig into the skin as he is finally driven over the edge, releasing into America. It was as if the sun had temporarily bloomed in his mind. His hips rock for a moment more as he rides it out. Alfred's body finishes a moment later, almost as an afterthought.

Russia slowly loosens his grip and his sunflower takes in an involuntary gulp of air, expanding its lungs with as much fresh air as possible. Dark marks have already started to further mar the skin. Russia withdraws and looks at the sticky mess beneath him. Semen and blood. He lies beside it anyway and presses it against his body.

As he listens to America's breathes become even he thinks about the wilted sunflowers he had received, and then the one in his arms. He nuzzles the bruised flesh. "I'll never have to throw you away, and you won't wilt or die unless I wish it."

Satisfied, he falls into a light doze.

Russia adjusts his scarf and glances at the bed. America was still lying on the bed, soiled from their lovemaking—if you could call it that. Russia would have Lithuania come clean him up and take away the sunflowers from the room and the rest of the house. If Alfred responded to them he would have to keep them out of sight until everything was all settled overseas.

Russia walks over to his window and scowls at the landscape. "Alfred, once I have your country secured as my own I think I will make your house my second home. A summer home where I can bask in the sun. Oh you need not worry. I'll make sure to bring you with me. I wonder, you won't mind if I plant a field of sunflowers in the yard right? A field of gold."

Russia looks once more at his captive. If America ever came out of its unresponsive state... Well as long as he had its country secured it shouldn't be a big deal. He would cross that bridge when he got to it.

Russia returns his gaze to the window. His bones ache for the warmth it would soon be promised. Still, he had a feeling that even once he got there and even if he planted a thousand sunflowers his favorite would always, always be the one that produced true warmth. His human sunflower.

~ End

* * *

**AN**: So this is the final chapter. I may choose to work on it again in the future but I have some other fics I've been working on that I'll be posting and I want to focus on those. I hope you enjoyed this twisted little ride as much as I have.


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